


Summer Solstice

by Mossflower_17



Series: Flesh and Stone Mini-Fics [4]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Bilbo is a great parent, Established Relationship, F/M, Frodo's First Adventure, M/M, Parenthood, Young Frodo Baggins
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-12 13:14:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29136153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mossflower_17/pseuds/Mossflower_17
Summary: Several years after the Battle of Erebor, Bilbo and Bofur are living a peaceful life in the Shire. But shortly after a terrible boating accident results in Bilbo taking custody of his young nephew, Frodo Baggins, this merry trio decide to set out on a spontaneous journey to Erebor, to visit friends and a certain King and Queen...
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Bofur, Kíli (Tolkien)/Tauriel (Hobbit Movies), Thorin Oakenshield/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Flesh and Stone Mini-Fics [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1815850
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	1. Raven News

Fine summer sunshine, rising high above the early morning mists, tinted the Lonely Mountain’s snow-capped peak with a glimmering golden glow. Around the wooded valley, a chorus of birdsong greeted the arrival of the sun. The land echoed to the soft trills of blackbirds and the gentle, ever-present coo of woodpigeons. It was high summer, and Erebor basked. The once-desolate lands between the mountain and Dale were now lush with waving fields of corn, wheat, and all manner of delicious vegetables and fruit. To the east were the pastures where sheep and cattle grazed, and to the west were the orchards and berry gardens, which were a magnet to mischievous and hungry young dwarflings during the long, hot summer days.

From a bird’s eye view, Erebor thrived. Winging her way over the flowering splendour of the eastern lands, a lone raven circled. She spread her wings wide, delighting in the thermals rising from the mountain’s rocky slopes, giving her effortless lift. Her dark, shining feathers soaked up the warmth of the sun’s rays as she scanned for a familiar figure among those moving below. _There!_ She closed her wings and stooped, going into a spiralling dive, before spreading her wings once more to land gracefully on a slender, grey-clad shoulder.

‘Hello there,’ chuckled Ithilrian, glancing up at the new arrival and raising a hand to stroke the raven’s glossy plumage. _‘Mae govannen, mellon nîn._ Tell me, how fare you on this fine summer’s day?’

The raven cawed softly in reply, shaking her wings and dipping her head to touch the elven Queen’s cheek, before sticking out her left leg. Carefully tied there was a slim scroll of paper.

‘My thanks,’ said Ithilrian, unlatching the message. ‘There is fresh food for you in the rookery. Go in peace, my friend. You’ve earned a good long rest.’

Once the raven had departed in a sweep of dark wings, Ithilrian examined the scroll. _‘To Queen Ithilrian & King Thorin of Erebor’_ was inscribed upon the outside, in small yet exquisite handwriting. Ithilrian grinned, tucking the letter into her pocket. She knew precisely who this message was from. Changing course, she swept back to the mountain.

Thorin glanced up from the document he was writing as his wife stepped into the royal chambers. Ithilrian was almost glowing with delight as she waved the slim roll of parchment at him.

‘A letter from the Shire!’ she said. ‘This is Bilbo Baggins’s handwriting, or I’m a dwarf.’

‘Hmpf. That you most certainly are not,’ chuckled Thorin, reaching out a hand to draw his wife close. She passed him the message, dropping a kiss on her husband’s cheek as she did so. Thorin smiled and shook his head, breaking the red wax seal and unrolling the missive.

_> > To the King and Queen of Erebor, Greetings from the Shire!_

__  
_ _

_We thank you for your last letter. Bofur has been so dreadfully excited to hear about the plans for a new crafting centre set in the Fourth Tier by the Guild of Tinkerers. He is certain that Bifur will be a fine fit as tutor there, given his skill at toymaking, and his love of teaching the young dwarflings. I am also delighted to hear you have made use of the strawberry seeds I sent with our last letter. That variety is a particular favourite here in the Shire. Unfortunately, I must rely on market fruit this year, as my entire strawberry crop has been eaten by birds, the thieving rotters. At least, this is what Bofur assures me. He vehemently denies all accusations of strawberry theft, and while I have my suspicions, I have discovered no proof. Yet._

_Thank you as well for the packet of jewels you sent with the last raven. You really didn’t have to, you know. We are humble folk here in the Shire, with little need for precious metals or flashy gems. However, I am happy to report that Bofur has been working with the Master of our small Hobbiton smithy, one Fulbert Smallburrow, and together they have turned your gift into trio of wonderful embellished brooches to be given as prizes for this year’s tomato growing contest. Competition is already fierce, as you can imagine. I hear that Rollo Took has imported a special variety of vine from Bree, so eager is he to win. Personally, I don’t think you can beat Shire-grown, but as we say here, the proof is in the eating._

_With regard to gifts, we are planning on sending a little special something to you along with the next dwarven caravans travelling from Ered Luin. It was all rather too heavy for the raven, poor dear; and they do such tireless and brilliant work, ferrying messages back and forth. We’ve both grown very fond of Roäc, who seems to be enjoying Shire life, as far as I can understand him. He is a truly extraordinary bird, and very gentle with the young hobbits who come visiting. I do fear that we are feeding him rather more than we should. But then, what’s a little extra portliness between friends?_

_On a more serious note, I have both good and bad news to share. The bad first: some weeks ago, there was a terrible boating accident on the Brandywine River, and my cousin Drogo and his wife Primula were both found drowned. We have all been horribly shaken by this news. Tragedy strikes us so rarely here in the Shire, it seems all the more terrible when it happens. It seems I am not yet hardened to news of a friend’s death. You’d think that with everything we went through, I’d be made of sterner stuff by now._

_However, this leads us to the one ray of sunshine in all this sorry business: their son, Frodo. He is a wonderful, bright little lad, very clever and inquisitive: a true Baggins, if ever I saw one. So, the good news: Bofur and I are now parents! We have officially adopted him. It took a long time to cut through all the red tape and Shire bureaucracy, but that is the norm around here. Several eyebrows were raised when I first made the offer; but technically I am his Uncle and next of kin. It’s been very exciting for us, as Bofur and I never expected to be parents. He has settled into Bag End remarkably well, and Roäc already seems to have found a new favourite; I’m certain the lad is giving him treats when we’re not looking. Still, as long as Frodo’s happy, and recovering, that’s all that matters._

_I shall save the rest of the Shire gossip for our next letter. We look forward to hearing more tales from Erebor, and send you our best and warmest regards._

_Yours in Friendship,_

_Bilbo & Bofur Baggins_

After reading the letter, Ithilrian sat back, shaking her silver head. ‘That poor hobbit,’ she murmured. ‘To be struck by such tragedy, so young…’

‘He was fortunate indeed to have Bilbo as his uncle,’ rumbled Thorin in agreement. ‘I believe they will make fine fathers, the pair of them. It sounds as though the lad is already settling in.’

Ithilrian nodded. ‘At least there is an upside to this tragedy. I recall Bilbo telling me that hobbits make poor swimmers. Thank the Valar that the Shire remains safe from outside harm, at least.’

‘Indeed. There have been no reports of orcs or goblins seen anywhere near Shire borders,’ said Thorin. ‘It seems their numbers have not yet recovered from the battle of Erebor. To send such an army against us, Azog must have recruited all foul spawn he could muster from the lands both east and west; and now that they are dead, the wide world is significantly safer for travellers.’ He scanned the letter again. ‘Speaking of which, I wonder when the next caravan from Ered Luin will arrive. Apparently, there will be something from Bilbo for us.’

Ithilrian smiled warmly. ‘Oh, I do hope it’s some more of that dark elderberry wine,’ she sighed. ‘I don’t know how they manage to make it so rich and flavoursome…’

‘Trust an elf to jump straight for the wine,’ Thorin chuckled. ‘Personally, I hope it’s one of Bilbo’s fruitcakes. They keep practically forever; and the amount of brandy that hobbit puts into them would sink a platoon.’

‘We shall have to simply wait and see.’ Ithilrian smiled, putting the letter with the collection of other missives that had been sent by their long-distance friends. ‘I do miss them, Thorin. I know they’re well and happy, and that the Shire is the best place for them both, but…’

‘I know.’ Thorin put a comforting arm around the silver elf’s shoulders. ‘Maybe one day, we will see them again. And perhaps meet their young nephew, too.’

*

‘Hurry up love, or we’ll be late!’ Bofur hopped anxiously from one foot to the other outside Bag End, waiting for his fussy husband to finish buckling the straps on his travelling bag.

‘That’s utter nonsense, we’ve plenty of time. Besides, a Baggins is never late. We’re punctual to a fault,’ retorted Bilbo, still fiddling. ‘Now let me see… blankets, bedrolls, firelighters, snacks for the road, a change of waistcoat, pocket handkerchiefs of course…’

‘Aye, well there’s a first time for everything then, isn’t there little’un?’ sighed the dwarf, glancing down at the tiny hobbit child holding onto his hand. ‘We’ll miss the dwarven caravan if we’re not careful. You tell your Uncle Bilbo to get a wiggle on now, eh?’

Young Frodo wrinkled his tiny nose. ‘What’s a wiggle?’

Bofur chuckled. ‘Never mind. Are you excited, then? Soon we’ll be going on a fine adventure, as soon as Uncle Bilbo stops fussing.’

Frodo nodded, his bright blue eyes wide and eager. ‘Yes, I’m excited for an adventure! Will we see all the places you told me about, in your stories? The Secret Valley, and the Lonely Mountain?’

‘Aye, almost all of them, I hope. Not the nasty ones, at any rate. You don’t want to be stuck in some filthy, stinking, goblin tunnels now, do you? Or halfway up a mountainside, with storm giants dropping rocks on your head?’

The diminutive hobbit tilted his head on one side, as though seriously considering this proposition. ‘How big are the rocks?’ he asked eventually.

‘Bigger than you, little mischief,’ interjected Bilbo, having finally finished adjusting the straps of his old leather rucksack. ‘Huge, great big enormous rocks, bigger than Gaffer Gamgee’s marrows; bigger even than Lucy the pony who lives with old Camelia Proudfoot.’

‘Wowee!’ The little fauntling’s eyes went very wide. ‘Umm, okay then. We don’t have to visit the storm giants. I don’t want you to get squashed.’

‘Jolly good.’ Bilbo chuckled as he took Frodo’s other hand. ‘Come along, Frodo. Won’t the King and Queen of Erebor be surprised when we arrive on their doorstep!’ He adjusted the set of Sting at his belt. ‘The wide world is waiting for us. Are you ready for your first proper adventure?’


	2. A Journey Begins

The following weeks passed in a blaze of sunshine. Much to Bilbo’s consternation, they had indeed almost missed the passing of the dwarven caravan. The travellers from Ered Luin had taken the Greenway over the River Lune and around the southern shore of Lake Evendim, bringing them into close proximity with the Shire’s northern borders. At the foot of an old oak Bilbo and Bofur had hailed the wagon drivers, who thanks to the raven messengers, had been expecting them.

‘Well now, isn’t this grand!’ Bofur beamed at the dwarves surrounding them, helping his husband and adopted nephew into the back of one of the sturdy covered wagons. He passed up to Bilbo the large, elaborately floral carpet-bag he was carrying, which had once belonged to Bilbo’s aunt Petunia. ‘Careful now,’ he added. ‘That’s got the good stuff in it, that has.’

‘I’m well aware of that,’ replied Bilbo. ‘Why don’t you sit here Frodo, and help me look after this bag. In here are all the presents for our friends who live in Erebor. You helped me to choose them, remember?’

‘I remember.’ Frodo nodded, his blue eyes wide and earnest. ‘I hope they all like them, Uncle Bilbo.’

‘I’m certain they will.’ Bilbo nodded decisively. ‘How could they not? That bag contains some of the finest produce the Shire has seen in years. My sweet tomato chutney beat all comers at the last Midsummer Fête in Bywater.’

‘Aye, I remember that alright,’ chuckled Bofur. ‘I don’t think I’ve seen you look prouder; or seen a sourer look on that Lobelia Sackville-Baggins’ face. She could have curdled fresh milk with the glare she was giving you.’

‘Hmpf.’ Bilbo grinned. ‘It was almost as sour as that pathetic attempt at a chutney. Watery, under-seasoned, flavourless… I’m not surprised it didn’t even place. I almost don’t blame her for flouncing off. I’d have been mortified, personally.’

‘I know, love. But then, you’d never put your name to a bad-quality chutney. That’s just poor standards, that is. Or bad taste, one of the two. Probably the latter, knowing that lass.’

‘Um, excuse me…?’

While they were talking, several of the dwarves seated in the pony cart had been eyeing the newcomers with increasing bewilderment. One, younger and apparently braver than the rest, with sandy blond hair and a short, braided beard, had spoken up.

‘Yes, lad? What is it?’ answered Bofur.

‘It’s just… aren’t you Bofur of the Shire, and Bilbo the Dragon Riddler? The… the great heroes who helped take back Erebor, with Thorin Oakenshield, the King Under the Mountain?’

‘Oh aye, that’s us.’ Bofur nodded amicably.

‘And… you’re concerned about… tomato chutney?’ the dwarf looked utterly bewildered. ‘I’m sorry, I just didn’t expect…’

Bofur waved his hand and laughed. ‘Aye, I don’t blame you, lad. We’re hardly the stuff of legend. Thorin now, he’s right kingly, that one. His queen too, she’s very grand. But then, you’ll see them and more, soon enough. We’re just humble folk. Bilbo here doesn’t really go in for dragon-riddling much these days, do you love? Unless you count old Lobelia…’

Bilbo shook his head, trying to hide a grin. ‘No, not so much. I’m certainly far more a grocer than a burglar, now.’ He nodded to the young dwarf who’d asked the question. ‘What’s your name?’

‘I’m Nadri, son of Nadren. At your service.’ He glanced between the hobbit and the dwarf, smiling as Frodo raised one tiny hand in a shy wave.

‘Well then, let’s do introductions. I am Bilbo Baggins, of Bag End. This is my husband Bofur Baggins, and our little nephew Frodo Baggins. Say hello, lad.’

‘Hello.’ Frodo blinked, looking eagerly around at the wagon’s occupants. ‘Are you all dwarves, like Uncle Bofur?’

‘Yes, we are dwarves,’ nodded Nadri. ‘This is my brother, Fenri. And over there are our cousins Baldrun, Balfur, and Binden.’

‘Is that why you all have beards?’ asked Frodo, pointing. ‘Uncle Bilbo doesn’t have a beard. Neither does Gaffer Gamgee, or Otto Brandybuck, or Hugo Underhill… or any other hobbits in the Shire. Not even the Tooks have beards.’

‘Well now, not all dwarves have beards. But most of them do,’ replied Nadri, glancing at Bilbo in amusement. ‘Our hair is very thick, you see, and it grows very long, and very fast, and not just on top of our heads, like yours. We have to take a great deal of care with it, or it can get all horrible and tangled.’

Young Frodo nodded, all seriousness. ‘That makes a lot of sense. My hair gets a bit tangled too, when I’ve been out in the garden exploring, and Uncle Bilbo has to come and get me.’

‘By the Valar, that’s true,’ muttered Bilbo. ‘Some evenings I come out to find you all scratched up by the rose bushes, coming in trailing mud and twigs and fireflies…’ he grinned, and shook his head. ‘Just like I once did, when I was a young fauntling. That’s why we’re here, isn’t it?’ He glanced around. ‘I think you’re quite ready for your first adventure, out in the world. You can’t keep running around the Shire forever. It’s really quite a small place, although I know it seems big to you now.’

Nadri nodded. ‘It’ll be a fine journey, we hope. Our scouts have reported no trouble ahead, and neither have the ravens. Our plan is for a nice, peaceful trip. However, if there is any trouble… rest assured, you will be well-defended.’ He laid his hand against what appeared to be a large, cloth-covered crate, lifting one edge of the cover slightly. From within, Bilbo could clearly see the glint of dwarven steel.

‘Well, that sets my heart at rest. Not that we’re defenceless, but still…’ Bilbo moved slightly, allowing Sting to sit more prominently against his hip. ‘It’s a comfort to know, especially with the little one here. I’d rather we didn’t meet any wargs or trolls or goblins along the way this time. Our first trek to Erebor was, um… interesting.’

‘We’ve heard the stories.’ Nadri’s brother, Fenri, leaned forward eagerly. ‘Are they all true?’

‘That depends which ones.’ Bilbo chuckled. ‘A very dear friend once told me that all good tales deserve embellishment. However, if you have any questions…?’

That was apparently all the encouragement the young dwarves needed. Very soon, Bilbo and Bofur found themselves inundated with questions, and recounting various incidents from their first tumultuous journey to Erebor; slightly edited versions, suitable for Frodo’s young ears of course, who sat there listening with wide eyes, occasionally chiming in, and chewing on a slab of dwarven fruitcake given to him by Fenri.

As the lush pastures of Shire rolled by, the landscape changed, becoming wilder. Soon their path was lined with tall, unfamiliar trees; larches and silver birches, with wildflowers peeping from behind ragged bushes or springing from the base of grey stone outcroppings. Young Frodo spent the time alternating between listening attentively and staring out at the lands that rolled past, his blue eyes drinking in all he could see. This was his first adventure, after all; and he was determined not to miss a single minute of it.


End file.
